None Like Her
by Nagiana
Summary: Full Summary Inside: Venetica Galvani, the daughter of renowned vivisectionist Dr. Gregoir Galvani, is a close confident and a good friend to the Empress Jessamine. After accepting a proposal put forth by the Empress and her Lord Protector, Venetica finds herself lost in a world that she suddenly doesn't recognize . . .
1. Chapter 1

**You know, one thing that steams my broccoli is the disappointing amount of Daud/OC Female fics and Martin/OC Female fics (Martin/Callista fics too are in a desperate short supply). I'm here to remedy that for you guys. This is None Like Her, a fic between Daud and my OC, Venetica.**

 **Reviews are muchly appreciated and are greeted with warm, fresh baked cookies. Flames, however, are picked apart and brutally sacrificed at the beginning of each author's note the following chapter. Constructive Criticism (which is markedly different than Flames) are greeted not only with cookies, but puppies, as well. Flamers, you have been warned.**

 **Summary: Venetica Galvani, the daughter of renowned vivisectionist Dr. Gregoir Galvani, is a close confident and a good friend to the Empress Jessamine. After accepting a proposal put forth by the Empress and her Lord Protector, Venetica finds herself lost in a world that she suddenly doesn't recognize. When Fate brings her and the Knife of Dunwall together in an awkward first meeting that quickly escalates from there, can Venetica find the one thing with Daud that she could never find before? Or will she be doomed to stay lost forever?**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Dishonored or any characters created by Arkane Studios and Bethesda. The only person I own, is Venetica, and any unknown characters later on that do not immediately show up in the Dishonored Wikia.**

 **\- Nagiana**

* * *

 _"When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right," we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." And for just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad."_

 _― Neil Gaiman, Neil Gaiman's Midnight Days_

* * *

 _"Well, look who I ran into!" crowed Coincidence._

 _"Please," flirted Fate, "This was meant to be."_

* * *

At first, Venetica didn't know if the Empress was joking or not, when she first heard her proposal. But as she awkwardly stood there and watched the expressionless look appear on the Empress Jessamine Kaldwin's face, as well as on that of the Lord Protector Corvo Attano, she realized that she hadn't been joking. Quite the contrary, she was being frighteningly serious.

"So what say you, Lady Venetica?"

Venetica jumped at the sound of the Empress' voice, and it was then that she reluctantly turned her eyes onto her. She shook her head in bewilderment. "My Lady, forgive me, but this . . . this is a matter that cannot be taken lightly! It cannot be decided on in just a few moment's thought!"

The Empress smiled kindly and nodded. She stepped towards her, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. When she reached her, her hands outstretched towards her and reflexively, Venetica took them. That same kind smile remained on Jessamine's face as she held her hands tightly but not in a mean way. If it was possible, there was also a . . . gentleness to how the Empress was holding her hands.

"And I understand that well, Lady Venetica. And it is only with the utmost respect and affection that I come to you with this proposal. You are one of my most trusted ladies, and – I hope, anyways – one of my dearest friends." Venetica could only nod meekly in return.

"And . . . and I think the same of you, my Lady. But a-a _marriage_ , it is . . . while I am flattered to have been thought of, nevertheless, it is still something that cannot be decided on lightly! I must converse with my father – garner his opinion – then weigh it against my own. Please, I beg of you – give me a little more time!"

Jessamine pursed her lips and released her hands, only for them to clasp in front of stomach again. She turned a pointed gaze onto Corvo, who was standing silently behind her, his strong arms crossed in front of his chest. At her look, he stepped forward and gave her a small smile. "Do what you must, Lady Venetica, but know that I would gladly and graciously take you as my wife. There is no women in the court who is as beautiful as you . . ."

She knew the honeyed words dripping from his lips, was a lie. There was indeed a woman in the court prettier than she was, and that was the woman standing in front of her. It was the woman he loved above all others – the woman who she would never be able to compete with and the woman who would cause him to forsake their marriage bed – not out of cruelty, but because that was where his heart would long for him to be. This wasn't a marriage made for love – it was one of necessity. It was one made to quash the quickly growing rumors in the court – rumors that the Princess Emily was really Corvo Attano's. This was a marriage made out of necessity, before people discovered the rumors were true and that the mysterious, handsome Morley diplomat that had visited Dunwall that one hot, balmy summer five years ago, was _not_ Princess Emily's true father.

A tight smile appeared on her face and she allowed him to brush his lips across the back of her hand, that same charming smile on his face. She would indeed return home and talk to her father about the proposal put in front of her by the Empress – it would only be what was expected of her. Even so, she knew it would be a futile gesture. She knew immediately when she heard the proposal and its explanation fall from her lips, what Venetica would say. She would agree to her proposal, not because she felt like she owed the Empress something (even though she owed her more than she could possibly give her) or even because she had long harbored an unrequited crush on the handsome Serkonan Lord Protector. No, she would agree to the Empress' proposal for one simple, frustrating reason:

She was too much of a coward to tell her no.

* * *

Her mother had not once called her a coward. Her mother had many clichés that she would use to describe her daughter and only child. As pretty as a beautiful spring morning, as sweet as sugar . . . eventually those clichés would dissolve into simple adjectives: intelligent, compassionate, kind . . . but not once did her mother loop those words in with 'coward'.

'Coward' had been a term that Venetica had penned for herself. Her mother had been a strong woman – strong and hardy until she succumbed to a disease Sokolov told them was 'cancer' – a disease that Academy physicians did not have much treatment for and certainly not a cure. It had been cancer of the uterus, brought about by the hard birth that had given her Venetica and then the subsequent sterility. Once she had it, it felled her quickly. Much too quickly.

Isabel Galvani _had_ to have been strong in order to have worked as a lady to the Empress Beatrix, the Empress Jessamine's mother, for as long as she had. It was that same strength and iron will, that had endeared her to the Empress so, until she succeeded in reaching the same status that Venetica had reached with the Empress' daughter: a confident and good friend. She had been strong enough to survive a shaky change in regime when the Emperor Euhorn succeeded to the throne on the assassinated coattails of the previous Empress Larisa. She had been strong enough to survive the ruination of her family when she married Venetica's father, Gregoir Galvani, a doctor man drastically below her station and who she had married for love – entirely unheard of at the time. Her family had been saved by the good graces of the Empress Beatrix, leaving the woman very much in her debt.

She had to have been strong enough to survive the hard childbirth that given her Venetica but which took away her ability to have any more children.

She had survived all those years and all those events, only to be felled by a _disease_.

When faced with that, how could Venetica _not_ call herself a coward? Or maybe . . . maybe 'coward' was the wrong word. Maybe it was as simple as her and Jessamine being two completely different people who had somehow managed to build a loving, friendly relationship. And while growing up beside Jessamine, the differences between the two girls had been even more apparent. While Jessamine was quick to grab her father's pistol and allow him to teach her how to shoot, Venetica was more interested in learning the fine points of needlepoint from her mother and the Empress Beatrix. While Jessamine had no problems leaping from stone wall to stone wall, or from any high surface, laughing as she went, Venetica was more content to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground unless she was galloping across the meadows of Gristol on the back of a horse. The only times the two girls shared something in common, was when they were met with confrontation. When that happened, both girls would become the two most headstrong, stubborn girls the whole of Gristol had never seen before.

So yes, maybe 'coward' was the wrong term. In this instance, however, it was particularly apt, she thought. She was too cowardly to turn down the Empress' proposal because she was afraid of offending her. Rarely, has she and the Empress ever fought, but when they did, the enmity between them had a tendency to last for months. She didn't want to risk that – not now, not really ever again. So yes, she would accept the proposal despite the advice of her father. She just hoped she wouldn't rue the decision.

It was this very same reason – her desire to be submissive instead of dominating and to take the easy path instead of the hard one – that constantly made her wonder _why_ Daud had found her attractive enough to garner his attentions. And while he had certainly been the cause of her finally growing a thicker backbone, it had taken months for even the foundations of that new backbone to grow. Why had Daud stuck around for that long?

What had the man seen in her?

* * *

She sat on the leather bench in the warm cable car, hands wrapped up in the furry muff that lay on her lap. It was winter at that time of year – wet and cold and slushy and overall miserable. Thin, brittle sheets of ice had formed on top of the Wrenhaven, giving the river an icy, foreboding appearance. It was at these times during the year, that she loathed not having an apartment in the palace. And while Jessamine had offered her many times to give her one, it was one of those rare situations where she had always turned her down. She loved where she lived already – the Galvani manor on John Clavering Boulevard with its big, warm rooms and walls covered with expensive paintings and taxidermied animals from far away. She loved coming home and walking into her father's cluttered lab, only to see the tall, lanky man with slicked back white hair, bending over the corpse of a dissected rat, eye rapt and pen scribbling furious notes in his journal. When he would catch sight of her, a grin would immediately spread across his face. He would push himself off of the table he would be hunched over, only to hold out his arms to her and say, "Welcome home, pup!" before bringing her into a tight hug.

Years later, they left Dunwall for the fertile, warm lands of Morley – the both of them bone tired of all the rats and the plague and the violence. After they left with their relationship cemented enough for her to begin to feel comfortable in the stability of it, Venetica would often wonder what her father would think of her relationship with Daud. They had left before she could ask him . . . ask him what he thought of the tall, muscular man who she shared a vineyard with and two children with, but not a last name. The question plagued her always.

Eventually, the rail car came to a smooth halt, dragging her from the thoughts she had been submerged in since her meeting with the Empress and Lord Protector. The door slid open with a fluidity that suggested being well-oiled, and a gust of cold wind. She shivered as she stepped down from the car into the frigid Dunwall air. Briskly, she set off down the street for the Galvani manor, pulling her fur coat closer around her to ward off the biting chill. She heard the footsteps of her silent guard behind her and didn't stop. She didn't when a group of laughing children spilled around them, nor when a group of Overseers marched past them with a cuffed woman walking in-between the first two. She kept up the same pace to the manor's front door and when she reached it, she gave a smile to the guard and dismissed him. He returned her smile and inclined his head to her before taking his leave of her to return to the palace.

She quickly entered the manor, giving a sigh of relief when the cold sunk from her bones, only to be replaced with the heat from the large fireplace on the second floor that performed the job of heating the whole manor. Moving past the glass display cases in the front hall, she climbed the stairs to the second. After placing her coat and muff in her room, she then climbed the stairs to the third, where her father was most likely working away in his laboratory.

That was exactly where she found him. Knocking gently on the glass door, he looked up, saw her, and grinned. Motioning her inside, she entered and closed the door behind her as he made his way over to her, arms outstretched. "Welcome home, pup!" He spoke and she gave him a small smile as she allowed her father to wrap her up in a tight embrace. She stood there, reveling in it and feeling like a little girl for the first time in years. Oh, how much she wished she could hide behind her father's legs like she used to – have him fight her battles for her. But he couldn't and _she_ couldn't. The most she could ask of him nowadays was for his advice, which what she was going to do at that moment.

"Can I ask for your advice, father?" She asked, and he nodded as they broke apart.

"Of course. Here, have a seat." He motioned to the chair sitting across from him and the dissected rat sitting in front of him, and she obliged him. After moving the stainless steel dissecting tray out of the way, he took a seat too and gave her his full attention. His chin was propped in his palm on the table. She took a deep breath to calm herself before launching into the proposal Jessamine had put forth to her that day and when she was done, Dr. Galvani's eyebrows were threatening to disappear up into his hairline.

"Well now! That is quite the proposal, pup!" She nodded, looking apprehensive.

"What should I do?"

Dr. Galvani sat there for a moment, thinking. When he was done, he heaved a sigh, as well as I shrug. "I don't know," He began slowly. "That is up to you. Your mother and I, we married for love, not for . . . status or-or _wealth_. I was just a lowly doctor when we married and attained the prestige I have now based on the love the Empress Beatrix had for your mother. That and the rather long history I had with Vera Moray, set me apart. So really, I cannot tell you what to do because Isabel and I were never in that situation. It'd be different if you loved Corvo. _Do_ you love Corvo, Venetica?"

Venetica released a bark of laughter that told him all he needed to know. "Love him? How can I love him, father, when I barely even know him? He hasn't said more than three words to me since Jessamine and I would twelve!"

Dr. Galvani adopted an amused tint to his eyes then. "Then why in the void, are you contemplating marrying a man you don't love? What happens when you find the man you're destined to fall head over heels in love with? What then? You can't marry him so you'll be forced to turn him down. Why make yourself do that."

Venetica adopted an 'are-you-serious?' look on her face. "I'm contemplating this because Jessamine _needs_ me to, father -!"

Dr. Galvani let out a snort of laughter. "Jessamine _needs you to_ , eh? No she doesn't. She's just discovered that rumors can be quite the pain in the hindquarters – rumors that _she_ gave the fodder to, to start with!" He waved his hand through the air. "Jessamine made her bed, pup. Let her lie in it in peace. Take my advice and you save yourself for the man you love. He'll come along eventually."


	2. Chapter 2

"Have you come to a decision yet?"

Venetica stiffened at the Empress' words spoken on a kind tongue, although she could nevertheless sense the iron that lay underneath them. It had been a week since the Empress had set the proposal down in front of her, and a week in which Venetica had not given her answer. She knew the Empress was getting anxious, but she still did not know what to do. She had no other friends to speak of (not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway; and especially none she trusted with this sort of thing), so normally when a situation like this arose, she would talk it over with Jessamine like they had since they were girls. They would then come to a logical solution that best benefitted _her_. In this instance, however, she couldn't, and she found herself hopelessly lost and flailing in her uncertainty and fear. She didn't know what to do – what decision to make - and it scared her!

Standing there beside her in the gazebo that overlooked the bay, a warm breeze blew up and through them from the Wrenhaven, ruffling the locks of their twin colored hair. She gazed out across the ocean in the distance – at the sun that was just beginning to sink down below the horizon. She could feel Jessamine's eyes on her – silently begging her for an answer.

An answer she still did not have.

The breeze, however warm it was, made a shiver wrack up and down Venetica's frame. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she squeezed her fingers around her silk clad arms, and hugged herself as tight as she could. She avoided Jessamine's gaze, like she had been doing for days up till then. She knew the time for her to deliver an answer to her friend was quickly becoming imminent, yet she kept returning to the numbing realization that she _didn't know what to do_! Outsider help her – she had possessed an entire _week_ to come to a decision, but none had come yet. Her doorway remained unshadowed – her doubts and worries still left unassuaged and to fester.

She blamed her father encouraging her to say no and marry for love, instead, that kept her from making this difficult decision. And if she was being perfectly honest, that was what she was so sorely tempted to do. She didn't love Corvo; after all, a simple girlhood crush was a far cry from loving someone so deeply as to marry them and be bonded to them for the remainder of your lives! And the longer she stood there and thought about it, the longer she realized that was what she most wanted in her life: a marriage made for love. She wanted the marriage her mother and father had made – the marriage that Jessamine and Corvo _would_ have if they could. And even though she had yet to meet the man who would make her feel what her mother had felt for her father, and what Jessamine felt for Corvo, did _not_ mean that she wouldn't eventually. Why shouldn't she keep herself open for that?

She stood there a moment longer, thinking, and quickly realized – with startling brevity - that Corvo was _not_ the vision of the man she had always seen herself being with and pledging her heart and everlasting love and fidelity to. She didn't know what kind of man attracted her fantasies, for the vision of him remained forever dwelling in the darkest shadows of her mind, but she _did_ know it wasn't Corvo. He was handsome and honorable and absolutely devoted to Jessamine, but yet . . . there was something about him that was lacking for Venetica's tastes. Again, she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there it was, out in the open: Corvo lacked something to make him truly appealing to her.

Was it age? Experience? Worldliness? Venetica couldn't place it, just knew that it wasn't there in Corvo. That it had _never_ been there in Corvo.

After a moment of feeling Jessamine's intense gaze starting to burn a veritable hole through her, she finally gave a hard swallow and turned to face her. "Jessamine, look, I -"

Jessamine interrupted her friend by giving her a thankful smile and taking her hands up in hers. She shook her head. "Venetica, before you say anything, I just want to take this moment to thank you – from the _bottom_ of my heart! I could come to no one else with this request, despite being how important a matter it is, and you . . . you did not judge me by my request, even though you had every right to. You heard it with open ears, heart, and mind, and I just want to say _thank_ you, Venetica, for being such an amazing friend to me over the years, and for even _entertaining_ me in this!"

It was like a lead stone had dropped into her stomach upon hearing her friend's rather emphatic words. They were so genuine – Jessamine's eyes appearing so heartfelt to her at that moment - that it was almost painful for her to bear witness to such a thing. One of her hands appeared at her collarbone, where her fingers worried at the pendant located there. It had been her mother's, and many a time, she would run her fingers over the smooth opal surface in hopes of gaining some of the woman's legendary strength.

How was she going to tell her _now_?

Eventually – and after a virtual eternity of standing there facing her friend and not knowing what to say – Venetica finally spoke. And it was _not_ what she originally set out to tell her.

"I've thought about it, Jessamine – a lot – long and hard, too! And I . . ." She paused and took in a deep breath before slowly releasing it. Forcing a tight smile on her face, she nodded. "I will. I'll do it, Jessamine. I'll marry Corvo."

The bright beam that crossed her friend's face at that moment, almost made it worth the heartache Venetica knew she would inevitably feel when she finally met that man who made her see the stars in his eyes and who caused butterflies to appear in her stomach. That man who currently lingered in the shadows of her thoughts, not making himself known, but lingering there all the same; silently telling her that he was there and waiting for her.

 _Almost_.

Oh by the Outsider, what had she gotten herself into?

* * *

"Can we . . . can we talk for a moment?"

Venetica's eyes widened upon hearing Corvo's voice puncture that bubble of soothing silence she had erected around herself, and immediately tore her eyes up and away from the book that had been lying open in her lap, but which she had not been reading a word of. He was standing a little ways away from her, a slightly apprehensive look on his face, and best appearing as if he did not wish to intrude on her alone time in the garden. In all honesty, Venetica _had_ come to the garden with every intention of being left alone. She wanted to completely submerge herself in her thoughts – borate herself for being so stupid, if possible. Every second that passed by with the reminder that she had just . . . _frivolously_ agreed with Jessamine's request to tie herself away for the rest of her life to a man she did not love, who did not love her, and who she would never be happy with, made her feel sick and stupid and so _utterly_ useless as a friend. A true friend would have told Jessamine her fears and her worries, and together, they would have discussed and put them to rest. A true _friend_ would have politely declined Jessamine's request, and then told her, with eloquence and poise, exactly why. But no . . . no, Venetica had to be a coward. She had to be her normal selfless self when it came to Jessamine. The one time she wanted to be completely and utterly selfish – to stay loyal to the unknown man who had long held sway in her thoughts, and she . . . couldn't. She ended up failing miserably.

Venetica had never before felt so bad for herself, and not-to-mention _angry_!

She also never remembered ever hating herself as much as she did then, too.

After swallowing hard to get past the lump that had been steadily building in her throat since he had announced to her his presence, Venetica gave a tight smile, and a nod. "Y-yes, of course. H-have a seat, Corvo." She spoke as she quickly moved to the side along the marble bench she had been perched on. With that same smile still on his face, Corvo took her proffered seat.

They sat there for a moment, basking in the heat of the sun's rays and allowing the smells of the ocean and the Wrenhaven, to fill their lungs. It was a beautiful day, and as he sat there, Corvo couldn't help but silently admit that Venetica was, too. She possessed a little bit of a different beauty than Jessamine, though. She was shorter and fuller, where Jessamine was tall and willowy. Jessamine's face was more angular and her eyes blue, whereas Venetica's was brown and a tad bit fuller, but not by much – with high-arching cheekbones that made many women envious. Their hair was the same color, but Corvo was afraid that was where their similarities ended. Venetica sat there beside him, hair tied back into an elegant chignon behind her head with a scarlet ribbon, kohl-rimmed eyes suddenly appearing much more innocent and vulnerable than they ever had before, and especially before he had arrived. He hoped that vulnerability would eventually go away, for she was much too pretty to harbor that air on her person, but knew with him, that it never would. He was sure many men would have been very happy to have her hand in marriage – that many man would have loved to support her enough to put the steel in her spine that she needed and would benefit from – the steel in her spine that would skyrocket her looks from beautiful or pretty, to simply gorgeous.

Then why didn't he?

Why did he feel so guilty for having allowed Jessamine to blindside her friend into this marriage the way they had? Why did he feel like they owed Venetica Galvani so much more than what they were giving her? Why were they repaying her decades of unwavering loyalty with _this_? Shouldn't she be allowed to find her own love the way they had – her own life's path? Shouldn't she be _allowed_ to marry for love, and not for politics like she had so selflessly agreed to earlier that afternoon?

Corvo wished he could be as loyal and selfless as she. It were two traits he couldn't help but admire.

"It is a beautiful day . . ." He finally spoke, the awkwardness between them becoming palpable, and she nodded.

"Yes . . . it is."

They descended into another silence then, one that was punctuated heavily by an uncomfortableness that was clearly evident. Eventually, Corvo grimaced and turned to face her. "Jessamine told me of your decision," Venetica nodded but did not speak, so Corvo continued: "I just want you to know that you _can_ say no if you want to, Venetica. We will understand."

She stayed silent, and Corvo heaved a sigh and added: "I know . . . I know this is unfair to you, in more ways than one. You have every right in the world to marry for love like everyone else. You have every right in the world to _want_ that. And as much as we will appreciate and be indebted to you for all our lives for agreeing to this, I nevertheless feel like this is . . . _so unfair_ to you! We have no right asking you to do this – to throw your life away to a man who will _never_ love you like you deserved to be loved, and I -"

"Will you be good to me?"

Her sudden, slightly hard words, caused him to come to an immediate stop. His eyes grew wide. "Excuse me?"

"Will you be good to me, Corvo?"

Corvo sat there, gaping at her for a moment, unable to think of how to reply to that. After a moment, his mouth closed, his face softened, and he gave a nod. "I will. I won't . . . I won't be able to love you like you deserve. But I will try to as much as I can, and I _can_ promise you that I will be good to you. You will want for nothing material – I _will_ take care of you!"

Venetica gave a slow nod. She supposed . . . she _could_ get worse than Corvo, couldn't she? Some men beat their wives – sexually, mentally, and physically abused them. Corvo was a good, honorable man – he wouldn't ever _think_ of laying a hand on her, and she . . . she supposed if she wished it, she probably wouldn't even have to share a bed with him past the consummation of their wedding night. It wasn't the best decision she had ever made for herself, but it wasn't the worst by a long shot, she figured.

She drew in a deep breath before turning to face him. The smile that appeared on her face then, was stronger than he had expected to see. "Corvo, I wouldn't have said yes to her if I wasn't sure. I could do a lot worse for myself than a marriage to you, the Lord Protector."

"But you deserve so much _more_!" He replied, emphatically, and wondered why he was trying so hard to get her to change her mind. Maybe his guilt ran deeper than he wanted to admit.

Venetica gave a sad smile that practically broke his heart in two, and gave another slow shake of her head. She returned her gaze out to ocean stretched out before them, and her head gave one last shake. "No . . . I've chosen my bed, Corvo. Now let me lay in it."

He felt his heart break at those words.

* * *

He has a headache pounding away with the force of a marching army, in his head. It banged at the walls of his temples with steel hammers – unrelenting, merciless. Daud stands there on his balcony, the cool breezes that made up Dunwall's nights, caressing his body, which lay bare before Outsider and country; his muscled, scarred physique shining under the white light of the full moon. The wind smells briny here, in the Flooded District, that he and his Whalers have made their base of operations in the old Chamber of Commerce building. It smells briny and salty from the blood of the whales that are butchered a little ways away in the next district.

A woman lies naked and sleeping in his bed behind him – a woman that he assumes is a prostitute. He did not care to ask, and after this night, if she isn't, then she would be, because he plans on paying her regardless of what she says, especially since she has no idea that she just shared the bed of the infamous Knife of Dunwall, and lived to tell the tale.

She possessed frizzy auburn hair, freckled cheeks, and luminous green eyes that remained the only beautiful thing about her, now that she has lived through Dunwall poverty. She was just as scarred as he was, with limbs that resembled twigs, and breasts that had once been quite lovely, he was sure, but which now hung like gunny sacks from her chest.

Daud did not like to think of himself as a particularly cruel man. He grew up with a fairly unremarkable life. His childhood and adolescence spent skirting along the fringes of the law, was your normal, everyday thieving and petty vandalism. He didn't torture animals when he was younger, heard voices that made him go crazy (those came later, along with the Mark that was now more of a blessing than a curse). He didn't get into his profession until much later in his life, and even then, he wouldn't call himself _cruel_. While being the Knife of Dunwall had certainly cooled him and made his heart a little bit harder, he didn't think himself invulnerable to bouts of guilt and compassion that plagued other people. He looked to his Whalers as his family – felt a loyalty to them that was almost fanatic. Many of them were like sons and daughters to him, hell, many of them, he practically _raised_ (Thomas and Billie's faces appeared in his mind upon this thought)! He would die for his men, he knew, with every ounce of conviction in his body, and knew they knew it, as well. That didn't make him cruel. Quite the contrary, he thought it made him very much the opposite.

When it came to sex, however . . . now that was when the line started to blur for him. He wasn't abusive by any stretch of the imagination, and he didn't even _begin_ to get violent in bed unless the woman practically _begged_ for it. He had grown up with a strong, independent woman for a mother who have wrung his neck in ten seconds flat if he even _thought_ of hitting a woman in anything but self-defense.

He wasn't a cruel man, in and out of bed, but . . . the way he approached sex, could possibly be misconstrued as such.

Quite simply put, he wasn't a big fan of it.

Anymore.

Sure, he had been young once, and like young men, he lived, breathed, and ate sex (literally and figuratively). He had, had his fair share of women, ranging all across the board from noblewomen to peasants – dockside whores to those who worked in high end cathouses like the Golden Cat. He'd done everything in the book, and then some. Eventually, though, like all things when they are done so much that they become tedious, sex, unfortunately, became like that. He still felt the drive to have sex – he was only human, after all. But lately, he'd been viewing it as nothing more but a primal drive - something to be done away with quickly, so that he could go back to the more important things that had been occupying his time before that insufferable itch reared it's annoying head. As such, he approached the deed mechanically – indifferently. He found that he didn't care for the pleasures of his partner – not anymore, anyway.

And as he stood there, thinking about it, it occurred to him that he was approaching his entire outlook on his life, in such a way now: in mere disinterest. When he was younger, he had devoted himself to his work – threw himself into making the Whalers as good as he could make them – forge them into the best, most ruthless assassins Gristol had ever seen, with him as their mythical figurehead. And slowly, as Daud felt who he was slowly slip away, only to be replaced with the "Knife of Dunwall" along with the accompanying mask and the Outsider's Mark, Daud found himself changing. He lived for his work. He had no time for relationships other than those he forged with his men. He had no time for such things as love and comfort, and as such, never got married. He never had a family. He didn't have any of those things other men his age normally did.

But Daud was different, wasn't he? Yes, the _Knife_ of Dunwall, had to be different. He had to be the lone wolf, the boogeyman in the darkness – the Outsider's right hand. A mythical figure didn't get his own life, save for the ones the people forged for him.

In truth . . . if he was being honest with himself . . . now that he was getting older, and he was allowed to allow the mask to slip more and more, he realized that he was lonely. Lonely and tired – _exhausted_ , even. He stood there and watched as some of his Whalers left their ranks to forge families of their own, hell, some of them even had families with each _other_! As he walked the streets and shadows and rooftops of Dunwall, he would find his eyes lingering on young newlyweds as they walked the streets, arms around each other, beaming with the happiness that flowed like cocaine through their blood; at mothers who carried their babes in their arms, and fathers who allowed their sons and daughters to ride on their shoulders.

Daud was lonely. He was exhausted. And more and more as the days bled away and the seconds ticked by, the man, the myth, the legend – the Knife of Dunwall . . . was starting to feel human.

* * *

The woman woke of her own accord. Silently, with her eyes burning into his back, she got dressed in silence. When she was done, she stood there, swaying uncertainly on her feet. He broke the silence that was beginning to stretch out between them, his lilting and baritone voice, quiet and pensive.

"Money's on the table. Take it and leave."

She didn't move, and eyed the money on the table like it was something foreign. "I . . . I'm not a . . ." She trailed off, not knowing whether to be offended or just take the money and go, no questions asked. But, he supposed she _did_ have a few last shreds of dignity clinging to her soul, despite what Dunwall poverty had thrown at her in her life, so didn't take it personally.

"You have a kid?"

She didn't answer him at first, only blinked at him bewilderingly for a moment. After a moment, she stuttered out an answer. "Yes, I-I do."

"How many?"

"Three. All boys."

Daud smirked. She should be grateful they were boys. Boys could get jobs at the docks as butchers, on the ships hauling in fish and whales – doing construction, police work. Hell, if they were of a mind, they could even become Overseers if it suited them. More likely, though, they would join Slackjaw's or Lizzy Stride's gang and live lives of crime. Daughters, however, if they didn't have the good fortune to become seamstresses or washerwomen or even – if they were especially lucky – maids – almost always became prostitutes.

Almost always.

"Take the money and go buy you all a good meal – maybe some new clothes, pay your rent. There would have been worse ways to make that money. When they're old enough, send them my way. I'll have jobs for them."

 _If they can handle it, that is . . ._ He silently added, and sensed the woman standing behind him, pause, almost as if she wanted to say something. Eventually, though, she thought better of it, and darted forward, where she scooped up the money. She paused again, and he felt her eyes bore a hole into his back, before she turned and moved quickly off towards the door. She paused for a last time when she reached the door, and turned to gaze at him over her shoulder.

"Thank you." She spoke, quietly, almost in awe. He didn't answer her – didn't even nod. He heard her open the door, and it took a moment for it to close – a moment that told him that someone had slipped in as she left.

Daud sighed and hung his head. He wearily rubbed the back of his neck with his callused hand. "What's the news?"

He heard Thomas chuckle from behind him. Thomas wasn't his second – that dubious distinction went to Billie – but he was one of his most loyal followers. He had raised Thomas from a kid into what he was now – one of his finest assassins - and if he was being honest, Thomas _should_ have been his second. Outsider only knew how much he confided in Thomas, compared to how much he did with Billie.

"Rough night?"

"You have no idea."

Daud turned around upon grumbling out those words, and moved into the room, where he yanked up his pants and pulled them on. Thomas was standing beside his desk, where the woman's money had been moments before. His blonde hair gleamed slightly in the pale light of the quickly rising sun, and a small smile was on his handsome aquiline features.

"The Lord Protector is getting married today, I hear." He told him, and Daud sent him an upturned brow.

"Why should that matter to me? Want to send him a wedding present or something?"

Thomas chuckled again and shook his head. "Figured you'd find it amusing. I, however, pity the poor girl who he's marrying."

Daud allowed himself to nod in agreement as he pulled on his shirt. "Marrying a man who will never love you – who will always pine for another woman . . . she has my sympathy, too."

"She's pretty, also, from what I hear."

Daud smirked. "What? You looking to be her Knight in Shining Armor?"

Thomas grinned back. "No, I was thinking more of you doing that, old man."

Daud released a bark of laughter, and shook his head. "Try a Knight in _Rusted_ Armor!" He shook his head. "All joking aside, why are you coming to me with this?"

Thomas gave a shrug. "It's been quiet around here, lately – _boring_. Some of us were talking about getting out for a day. Go to the market, cause some mayhem for Slackjaw's men in the Distillery. There's gonna be a wedding procession around noon – Corvo and his new, blushing bride led by the Empress herself. Figured we might catch that as well. Wanna tag along?"

Daud stood there and thought for a minute before eventually shaking his head. "No, I'll pass. I'm too old for mayhem, and I don't have to pick up anything in the market."

"What about the procession."

Daud smirked. "Do I look like a wedding guy to you?"

Thomas chuckled. "Oh I don't know, Daud . . . maybe?"

Thomas answer was so cryptic, that Daud chose not to answer it. Instead, he nodded. "But don't let me hold you guys back. Go, have fun. I'll let you know if we get anything in way of jobs."

Thomas nodded and moved towards the door, only to stop and turn around. "Oh, yeah, by the way, Billie wants to speak with you. What do you want me to tell her?"

Daud grimaced as he shrugged his jacket on. "Tell her I'll catch up with her later. Don't feel like dealing with a Billie Lurk this early in the morning."

Thomas smirked and nodded, but didn't say anything, merely moved towards the door. He left swiftly and quietly, leaving Daud alone with just him and his thoughts. He stood there for a moment before moving over to his desk. Mine-as-well get some work done. Wasn't like he had anything else to do.


End file.
